


The Last Tale

by solitariusvirtus, tenten_d



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Accidents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Hallucinations, Literary Fairy Tale, Projected World, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4179180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenten_d/pseuds/tenten_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>How do you tell reality from imagination? What are the markers?</em><br/><br/>The tale of Lyanna Stark takes an unexpected turn once she decides to visit her decrepit grandfather, Rodrick Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got around to finishing this.
> 
> I couldn't make up my mind how I wanted to end it, and this came out.

i. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Lyarra asked her daughter yet again. "You don't have to go if you do not want to. I can still call my father and tell him we've changed our mind about the whole thing."

"Mom, relax!" Lyanna said, calmly dusting her coat off. The brush in her hand glided over the sturdy material in even strokes. "He is already expecting me. I won't go back on my word." Besides, her trunks were already packed, the flight booked and the tickets bought. "I'm sure I'll have a lovely time."

"Sweetheart," her mother sighed, brushing back a rebel strand of hair, "he can be a very difficult man at times."

Rolling her eyes, Lyanna set aside her current task. "So can anyone who is grieving."

"He's been grieving these past fifteen years." Lyarra took Lyanna's hands in her own. "I don't want you to be disappointed. He is not the man he used to be."

There was little point in telling Lyanna that. She had been less than five years old the last time she'd seen her grandfather. She could not even remember what he looked like. Rodrik Stark had been more absent than present in his granddaughter's life. Not that Lyanna blamed him. She understood his distance.

"Tell Ned I left those books of his in Brandon's old room," Lyanna said quite suddenly, pulling her mother from her thoughts. "And please don't let Benjen wallow in his room all day long. Take him to the market if you must." She retied the ribbon at the back of the coat.

Lyarra smiled. "You don't always have to take care of everything, daughter. Let others help you in return." She kissed Lyanna's cheek. "I'll drive you to the station in the morning. Try to get some sleep."

Once alone, Lyanna jumped on her bed and searched for the book she had been reading. Somehow the damned thing had ended yet again on the floor. She distinctly remembered putting it on her nightstand. "I swear this is driving me insane," she said into the emptiness of the room. Curling atop the covers she opened the book and started reading.

This visit to her grandfather's would surely help, she thought to herself. It had to. Lyanna broke off for a moment, memory reverting back to that day. The familiar scents and noises returned to her with ease. She did not want to remember. Her breath came in short grasps, and the feeling of something blocking her lungs made her choke. Lyanna wrapped her arms around herself in a lax hug. Her eyes stung.

"God, make it stop," she begged softly, her whole being invaded by a sense of sadness.

The breeze came in through the window, cool and soothing. Lyanna looked towards the source of her comfort to see the beautiful sight of the setting sun. The warm colours flooded her senses. She loved those best.

Wiping her tears away, she rose from the bed and started pacing about the room.

ii. It was going to rain sometime later. Lyanna looked up at the dark, threatening clouds, but felt no dread surge through her at the thought of rain. Her nails tapped rhythmically against the plush of the chair. She hummed along with the song playing on the radio. It was an older tune, one she hadn't heard in quite awhile. "I really like this song," she told her mother.

"It's a good song. Your father liked it too." The remark brought a sad smile to the older woman's face. Mentioning Rickard Stark always did. Lyarra's eyes never left the road though.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Lyanna minded it very little. It gave her time to think, to adapt herself to the situation before her. The quiet was a friend. Her fingers played with the thin ring she wore on her small hand. Distantly she though that her birthday would be spent yet again away from home. Was it better so? Twenty-two. She had actually lived long enough to see this age. Something like hysteria bubbled on her lips but the young woman wrested it down. In the mirror the faded scar running along her neck glowed faintly.

"Call me," her mother said as they got to the station. "E-mail me daily. I want to know how you get along with him."

"Once a week," Lyanna countered.

"Once every three days." Lyarra was unmovable. "Call or e-mail, or I'll get on the first train and come drag you home."

"Fine, fine," her daughter finally agreed with a long-suffering sign. "I promise I won't forget." She took her trunks out of the car.

Lyarra handed her the tickets. "Take some pictures. I'm curious to see what changed he's made to the house."

They share one more long embrace, Lyanna being the one to break it.

iii. Sitting next to strangers was uncomfortable. Lyanna tried to concentrate on the scenery but she was distinctly aware of all the subtle movement behind her. She was also well aware on the fact that the kid two seats away kept staring at her neck even after his mother had repeatedly called his attention away, pointing out in a low, discreet voice that he ought not to stare. Lyanna pretended not to have heard. She was good at that, pretending not to notice the stares and the whispers. By now it was second nature.

The train's speed was fairly quick. Should nothing obstruct the line, they would be making a good time. Shifting the headphones in her ears, Lyanna leaned back against her seat. The Austen in her lap, massive and well-worn, pressed against the top of her thighs. She was in the mood to read something optimistic, cheerful even.

Before she could lose herself in the pages of the book she once again felt eyes watching her. Instinctively her neck turned, catching the culprit in action. Lyanna licked her lips and blinked owlishly. The mother pulled on the child's hand, scolding him louder and sending Lyanna an apologising look. Lyanna merely shrugged and returned to her book, softly fingers in page. The train ride couldn't be over fast enough. She just wanted to get to her grandfather's place, stay there the agreed period and then look for a real job.

iv. The old housekeeper greeted her at the station where she was dropped off. Lyanna didn't remember him either. "How do you do?" she asked, trying her best to be pleasant to the man.

"Well enough, lass," he replied, holding the door for her. "These old joints of mine crack and hiss, but I bear them as I may." He went on to tell an anecdote to which Lyanna gave a perfunctory giggle. Then he had all sort of stories to share with her as they rode up the drive.

She was genuinely having fun by the time her grandfather's house was reached. She said house, but really one had to imagine a manor of sorts. It had not seen any varnish in the past few decades, she was sure, and ivy had started climbing its walls making for a neglected, if lovely sight.

"It's huge," Lyanna exclaimed as she was led to the front door. How could she not remember something like this?

v. Rodrik gave her a hard look as she sipped her cup of tea. "I was sorry to hear about your brother and father. We've had our differences, your father and I, and I much regretted our last meeting." He drank from his own cup. "How is your mother?"

"She took it hard," Lyanna confessed. "Ned had to be the man of the house those first few days until she managed to pull herself together enough to see to the various problems which had cropped up." Her fingers wringed the material of her blouse nervously. "She was upset when you did not show up for the funeral. But, of course, once she heard about the accidents," she trailed off, eyes resting uncomfortably on what she knew to be a fake leg.

She remembered it vividly. Brandon taking the wheel, father instructing him from the passenger's seat. The quick flashing light, blinding her brother. A sense of dread filling her. Lyanna recalls screaming – something like the yowl of a wounded animal – as the sharp metal pierced her skin. Benjen had tried to pull them both away only to have three fingers crushed. The smell of blood was strong in the air. Her father's head had lolled back and Brandon was losing his life too quickly for them to do anything. They died before her eyes and she was stuck, incarcerated by metal and debris. Benjen had lost consciousness, which was a blessing. She had stayed awake until the ambulances arrived.

Eddard hadn't been with them, thank the Lord. At the very lest he hadn't had to be there with them in that car.

"Wouldn't you like something stronger than this?" the man asked, offering her a glass of port.

Lyanna drank it down. She grimaced at the taste and for the first time she heard her grandfather laugh.

vi. Mrs. Byrne tapped on Lyanna's door just as she had finished the call to her mother. "Come in, please!" The woman put her head in the room. "How may I help you?"

"Mr. Stark wants to see you down in the sitting room at present." Her message relied, the older woman left.

Lyanna pulled on a cardigan and padded downstairs. She had settled into a routine these days. It had surprised even her that she got along so well with her distant grandfather. Her mother was pleased and so was she. Her stay would a nice one.

Opening the door Lyanna came face to face with a complete stranger that took her breath away. The man had turned to look at her too. Striking amethyst eyes met her gray orbs. Lyanna could not help but notice the handsome visage or the tall frame and pleasant aura. It was like a moment ripped out from those corny romance novels when the heroine first laid eyes on the hero and she fell desperately in love with him. Only Lyanna hadn't fallen in love. No, definitely not.

"Miss Stark?" he asked in a clear deep voice. Lyanna nodded dumbly, voice stuck in her throat. "My name is Rhaegar Targaryen. I am your grandfather's lawyer." He held his hand out.

Returning his gesture, Lyanna could not help the smile that bloomed on her face. "Lyanna Stark."

"Sit down, girl," her grandfather told her sternly. "It is time I told you why I called you here.” He waited until she was seated. "The truth is I am ill. Terminally so, I won't lie." The shock on her face did not stop him. "That said, I have decided to bequest you this house here, while your mother and brothers may take the rest of the inheritance."

The lawyer pulled a small stack of papers from his briefcase. "I have drawn up a preliminary version of the will. If you would read it over, miss." He gave Lyanna a copy. "Tell us if there are any changes you wish to be made."

Struck by the enormity of it all, Lyanna could barely move a muscle, yet alone read and understand the contents of a will. She looked towards her grandfather in perplexity. "I cannot." She shook her head and got to her feet. "If this is someone's twisted idea of amusement, then there is something wrong with you."

"Miss Stark, this matter is serious," Rhaegar assured her. "Please, sit back down."

As if in a trance, Lyanna slipped back into her seat. She still couldn't believe it. But her eyes finally found the printed letters. She managed to read the first few sentences, hands shaking and eyes blurring the whole document over. It had to be some sort of curse. Just when she thought herself safe it came back again. A constant threat. Her face paled. Lyanna felt like crying.

For the next few hours she sat in the room, seeing with eyes not her own.

vii. From her grandfather's revelation to the haunting sense of wrongness there was but a little step. Lyanna watched the water flow, the narrow stream too nosy for her tastes. The sky had darkened and it looked like it might rain. She hadn't called her mother in a couple of days. Tomorrow, she decided, she would call tomorrow.

The wind had picked up and the weather was quite cool. If only the sun had lasted awhile longer. Humming softly, Lyanna bent over edge, just slight, to wash her hands. The water was cold, icy even. Yet it was not deep. One could go in and it wouldn't pass their waist. Not seep at all. And quite clear. She could even see the rocks at the bottom. Would it freeze in winter?

It was a lucky thing no fish dwelled in it. But perhaps it was too narrow and sallow for that purpose. Fish. Trout. Eddard's girlfriend had a brooch in the shape of a trout. Why she would wear anything like that, Lyanna could not tell.

viii. "Doesn't he need a doctor?" Lyanna asked the second time Rhaegar came. The man, in his crisp white shirt and black suit, had been content to sit with her in silence as they waited for Rodrik to appear. He turned and regarded her in silence a few moments longer.

"He does. But perhaps the question is if he wants one." Silver hair caught the light, and for a brief time Lyanna was distracted.

He didn't. Lyanna sat back against the couch. "Why me? His daughter still lives, and I have two brothers. Why me?"

"I do not presume to know his mind, Miss Stark." He returned to the paper he had previously been reading, and Lyanna looked out the window.

"Have you known him long?" she asked finally, after sighing to herself.

"All my life, I suppose. I grew up around these parts." His explanation stirred her curiosity. Rhaegar offered a small smile. "I know you too. After a fashion. Of course I don't expect you remember it, as you were four or five at that time."

A blush ran hot across her cheeks. "Ah, I see. I had no idea."

ix. The owl's hooting woke her up and for the life of her she could not go back to sleep. She tossed and turned, trying to make herself comfortable. The bed creaked. The moon shone brightly. At this rate she was not going to be falling asleep anytime soon.

Getting out of bed, she ran down the hallway and then quietly proceeded down the stairs. Perhaps a glass of something warm could soothe her. And she could call Lyarra while she was at it.

Lyanna took out her phone and dialled her mother's number. Not five seconds passed before Lyarra's voice greeted her. "Hey, mom! I have a hard time of it with falling asleep." They shared the same problem. "Ned's back?"

x. "I'm not scared of dying." She twirled the ribbon around her fingers absentmindedly. "I'm not even scared of death." She had seen death. She had felt death. Lyanna gave an almost startled look at her rapt audience, as if she'd just realised they were there, right in front of her. "I'm sorry. That must sound morbid."

Her grandfather waved his hand dismissively, his old friend made a noise she could not quite decipher the meaning of. "Only the truly foolish are not afraid of death. Or the dying."

"I'm afraid of what comes after," she confessed softly. "The cold darkness, the emptiness." That sense of loss that still clung to the back of her throat like the bitter remnant of a sour fruit. No, death did not scare her. "Eddard wants to come over. He said he would take Benjen along if he could convince him."

"What is Benjen afraid of?" Rodrik asked. "I hope he's not still scared of me?" He laughed, probably remembering that one time he scared poor, little Benjen so much that he refused to come out of the room he'd hidden in unless mother came for him.

Everything, Lyanna thought bitterly. Benjen was afraid of living. "I couldn't say." Her tea was overly sweet. She couldn't drink too much of it at once. It mingled badly with the other one. She put her cup down and took an orange from the plate. She peeled back the already cut thick layer. "I think he doesn't remember it."

At any rate, she wouldn't want him to. Lyanna broke the orange apart with slow movements, completely absorbed by her task. She let the two men talk of what they would, her brain no longer willing to supply any ideas. Instead she thought about Ned and the promised visit. She tried not to think about Rhaegar Targaryen. Not because anything had happened. But she could feel herself slipping around him. A sort of panic settled in the pit of her stomach when he was around. Something she hadn't felt since her better days – and those were far off, all gone, hidden in the corners of her mind. She hadn't liked anyone like she liked Rhaegar since a confession on the playground was the equivalent of a marriage.

Was it affection? Could she feel anything for a man she barely knew? Lyanna couldn't explain it. She couldn't rationalize it. Rhaegar Targaryen with his warm countenance and levity of character had somehow warmed her. Lyanna had not expected it. It felt good.

Lyanna bit into the fruit, nose wrinkling at the juice that invaded her mouth. Her eyes gazed outside the window but she did not linger. It was still raining. More tea, less sugar and more milk. Or no milk. The sound of raindrops beating against the window; it was oddly soothing, and not. At least it was not loud. Lyanna could hardly stand loud sounds. They reminded her too much. Just too much. And she doing a good job on her own already.

xi. Rhaegar found her with a storybook in her hands, sitting underneath a tree. Her feet were bare, jeans hugging the legs tightly as she stretched them. She looked up at him, for a moment not recognizing his presence. Her eyes darted back to the paper, then up again. She seemed confused, but recovered enough to stammer out a greeting.

"Miss Stark," he returned the gesture, bowing to her. It was a well-calculated move on his part. "Still fond of Prince Charming, I see."

"Just so." Her head shot up, neck arching gracefully in her defiance. "I believe he will ever have a place in my heart. But I find the dragon much more interesting." Her hand came to rest on the cover of the now closed book. "Grandfather is not here."

"I know." Rhaegar sat down next to her. "Do you ride, Miss Stark?" There was a time when she had been very fond of horses.

"Hardly. I never really had the chance to learn." Her cheeks reddened and she looked away. "Don't tell me I used to follow you around and ask to be taught."

"You were rather cute," he said, hand reaching out for the worn book. He turned a few pages. "You even follow me in that haunted house up the hill." Her eyes widened. "It's not really haunted. And I held your hand all the time we were in there." He laughed good-naturedly at her reaction.

"Did you call me Miss Stark then too?" Lyanna took her book back. "Do I have to insist that you call me by my name?"

xii. Rodrik left her sleeping on the couch in that room she liked so much. He did not disturb her. Not that he could. Yet he left the blue roses on the table. Lyarra too liked blue roses. The other one had been just the same. He could send her some, if they held.

Making his way to his own room, Rodrik lit his pipe. And that Targaryen boy too had to be dealt with. They would have words, the two of them. His daughter's girl had come here to get away from trouble.

xiii. "She is not a child," Rhaegar argued softly. He did not need to employ any sort of force. Not where they were. "Besides, I haven't done anything yet. You were the one who promised."

"And you broke that promise," Rodrik pointed out sombrely.

"I had to. You know that." It did not need further explanation. "Whatever there was is now no more. I did not do it by choice."

"There is always a choice." The old man drank his port. "My boy, I know it is not a simple matter, but it is what it is. If you don't like it, you are free to make your own promise. But this is your word, remember it. If you break it, broken it remains."

"I don't intend to break it." He drank from his own glass. "I like her. I really like her."

The old man harrumphed.

xiv. Lyarra knocked on her eldest son's door, but did not have the patience to wait for his approval before she entered. Yet knocking on any of her children's' doors was in itself a warning more than a supplication to be allowed entry. It was, and had been for the longest time, well understood that as mother to them all Lyarra was not to be refused access to their personal space, whichever she chose to visit.

Since her children were small, Lyarra had always been with them, more so than Rickard. To be fair, she had sacrificed for them not only her career, but best years of her life. Not that she regretted any of it; Lyarra had been, even young, fonder of caring for her children than she ever was of pursuing a career.

Coming from a powerful family, Lyarra had been given choice when it came to her own future. As a young girl she had attended private schools and later on pursued higher education too. The Stark were an old and rich, politically active family. All its members were treated with respect, but more so the first branch of them. Lyarra had been born into a so-called cadet branch, and though she had wanted for nothing, her position was inferior to the main branch's members. Her husband, Rickard, had been born into the main branch. They were not very closely related so that their eventual marriage had raised a few eyebrows, but no grounded complaints.

Most peculiarly, Rickard had chosen her to be his wife. Marriage into the same family was not very common in those days, as most families were concerned with strengthening the bonds amongst themselves. Rickard and Lyarra had been a notable exception to that unspoken rule; their marriage was one based on love rather than a deal for advancement.

And that despite having a solid education she chose to stay at home and care for children had been a shock to friends and enemies alike. If Lyarra recalled correctly that had been one of the many reasons for which her father hadn't liked Rickard; he claimed that the man had taken his daughter's chance to do something with her life. Unfortunately Rodrik had neglected to ask his daughter's opinion on the matter. In the end he had to resign himself to the situation.

Lyarra was happy in her marriage, and one could say, very fortunate in her family. Brandon had been his father's, Rickard's, pride and joy. Eddard had been Lyarra's boy, very much like her in temper and mannerism. Lyanna was the only daughter, and Benjen the baby of the family, everyone's little darling. No, Lyarra could not complain.

"Eddard," she called softly, stepping inside the room. "Eddard, it's time to wake up." She walked closer to her son's bed, and leaned over him, shaking his shoulder.

He woke easily. Eddard opened his eyes with a groan. "Mother," he greeted. "Is it six already?"

"A few minutes past," she replied. "Now come on, up you get!"

xv. Catelyn gave her younger sister a disapproving look. "You shouldn't believe everything Petyr says."

Lysa scowled. "Just because you and he had a fight doesn't mean I am not allowed to talk to him anymore." She hid her phone in the pocket. "Besides, I really think you were wrong this once."

At that Catelyn pulled back from her sister, an emotional sort of withdrawal. She opted not to remind Lysa exactly what their father thought of Petyr and his behaviour. If anything, it would only make her sister more unmanageable than she already was. Lysa had a soft spot for the guy and Catelyn was tired of fighting her little sister's battled for her.

"Why do you have to be here anyway?" Lysa asked, distracting Catelyn form the magazine article she had turned her eyes to. "Are you seriously considering moving up here?"

Slamming the paper on her knees, Catelyn gave a long sigh. "Why do you suddenly care? I'm making it so you can meet Petyr, the rest is not of consequence, is it?"

"Not really," the younger woman confessed freely. "I was just being polite."

"More like nosey." As the older sister, the firstborn Tully daughter was well aware of her sister's behaviour. They had raised each other practically in the absence of their mother and their father being too busy to fit them in his schedule.

"You really like this Stark, don't you?" A warm hand touched hers and Catelyn could not help smiling. "Come on, admit it."

"I really like this one," she said. "I just wish the circumstances were different."

Lysa put her head on Catelyn's shoulder. "If only everyone could be happy, the world would be such a better place, wouldn't it?" Utopias were really her domain. "Cat, I'm glad I came with you."

xvi. The old attic used to be a room. It still looked very well. Lyanna brushed the dust from the table with her hand. With a bit of cleaning the place would be habitable, and if she was honest Lyanna would like it there very much. It was wide enough to fit in a bed and a couch, a small table and a few chairs. Her laptop she could place somewhere near the two windows. It was lovely.

"Mrs. Byrne!" she called after the housekeeper. The woman trudged up the stairs. "I think this room would suit me better. Do you think I might convince my grandfather to allow me to remain here?"

The woman looked at her as if she'd just asked her about the properties of gravity. "I'm sure he'll find it's no problem, Miss. But the room needs cleaning."

"Which I will do presently if I may have some materials." With that Lyanna returned to looking out the windows. They were large and dirty, but the frame had been skilfully worked, and the decorations that ran along them was simply fascinating. It was like a story. She leaned in closer to get a better look at those.

Most were carved animals. But not any animals. Dragons, wolves, lions and some mythical creatures Lyanna did not recognize danced along the frames. She wondered why her grandfather possessed such window frames. He did not seem like a man who appreciated this sort of art.

"Here you are," a woman's voice startled Lyanna out of her thoughts.

Jumping out of her skin, Lyanna turned around, trying to identify the source of the noise. The room was empty. Concluding that that old Byrne woman must have spoken somewhere in the hall, she breathed in relief. "Still afraid of your own shadows?" Lyanna asked teasingly, laughing at her own testiness.

xvii. Aerys shook his head at his son's stubbornness. "You're going to be the death of me, boy."

"But you don't disapprove," Rhaegar concluded with a sharp smile.

"You can hardly do worse than last time." He refills his wineglass. "Are you sure though? Does this Lyanna seem like the right one?"

Shrugging, Rhaegar remained silent for a few moments. He looked down at his hands. "I think so. I would not have broken the other arrangement that time if I had known what I know now."

His father nodded in understanding. "Sometimes the things we want most are those that slip through our fingers. Just don't rush into anything. There is time."

Rhaegar allowed his thoughts to drift away. He did not recall his first meeting with Lyanna, but likely it was when she was still a baby. Perhaps at that time he hadn't placed very much importance on her. Not a mistake to be sure. They had been children, both unaware of what destiny held for them. But he did remember Lyanna as a little girl with a plait trailing her as she ran around followed by one of her brothers. He had liked her liveliness.

And then she stopped coming around. All of a sudden. Nonetheless, Rhaegar was aware of the reason. Her grandmother's death had made her grandfather weary of company. Rodrik had found it easier to lock himself in his home after Arya's death. Rhaegar supposed that the pain must have been crippling. He could not imagine it. He did not want to.

"Are you going to see mother today?" Rhaegar asked.

Aerys' eyes misted over. "I think I shall. Do you suppose I should bring her carnations?"

"She did like them best," the son answers.

xviii. Ned helped Catelyn with her bags, barely noticing the other young woman at her side. "This is Lysa. I don't think the two of you ever got the chance to meet."

Lysa held her hand out, a bright smile on her lips. "You look nothing like your brother." Her comment was met with a surprised look from the man, and an admonishing glare from her sister. "I mean that in the best way possible. I swear."

Ned laughed. He held her hand. "I have yet to meet a woman who wasn't taken with my brother's looks."

"Well, this woman isn't." Lysa gave her sister a look. "I'm off. Petyr is somewhere around here, lurking in some dark corner."

"Should you let her go alone?" Ned asked.

"I'm sure I shouldn't, but Lysa won't be compelled to listen to me." Catelyn took his hand in hers. Slim fingers curled around his broader ones. "She's old enough to look after herself."

"Does your father even know she's here with you?" There was something part curiosity, part disbelief in that.

"He knows as much as he wants to know." The redhead pulled him towards the car. "You were telling me about this grandfather of your. Now I'm curious."

xix. "Do you believe in ghosts?" Rodrik looked at his granddaughter as he asked the question. He held in his hand a picture of his late wife. Lyanna looked at the same picture with a sort of muted curiosity. At home, her mother had only one such reminder of her own mother. There were notable differences between the two pictures, of course. The Arya shown in the picture held in front of her eyes was a young woman, perhaps younger than Lyanna herself at the time it had been taken. There was no colour to it. She had been pretty.

"Perhaps," Lyanna answered. "Some sort of ghosts, but not those people usually think of when the word is used." Ghosts were regrets. It was as simple as that. "But I think you were going to tell me about the Reyne Mansion."

"The Lion's Den?" The older man scratched his beard. "It was built soon after the floods and for the longest time it was the residence of the Reynes. I suppose nothing remarkable ever happened there until the incident. By all accounts the family fully met society's expectations. They were not the richest perhaps, and certainly not the oldest and uprooting the family business to move it up north was peculiar at best. Now, their appearance must have caused quite a stir, but I remember little much of it. By the time I started paying any attention to the Reynes, I was fifteen and the family's eldest daughter, Cerelle, was sixteen and pretty as a picture." He laughed, perhaps at the memory. "There wasn't a boy in town who did not think her the prettiest, or so I seem to recall."

"And the fire?" Lyanna interrupted, somewhat impatient.

"That came later." Her grandfather did not continue immediately. He gave her a startled look, as if to say she shouldn't interrupt as she saw fit. "I was telling you about Cerelle, yes? Cerelle would look at none of us, though. Apparently she had left a man back home, one she loved very much. But for some reason they were not allowed to remain together. I never did find out why. But he followed her here and they would meet every few days down by the stream. And all was well for a time." Rodrik brushed away a speck of dust from his eye. "Until it wasn't. It was only accidentally that I came upon the scene which I will describe to you. Cerelle had quite a few older brothers, so it was very little surprising that one of them discovered the affair. But instead of scaring his sister's suitor away, he went into a mad rage and started beating the other guy." I ran for help, but by the time I got back all three of them were gone. The suitor I never saw again, but Cerelle had no problem parading around town, even after it became apparent that she was pregnant." Lyanna wondered why he did not tell her a more abbreviated version of the story, but she wisely kept her mouth closed. "The parents did the only thing they could do, they married the girl to the first man willing to take her. The wedding was to take place at the Reyne house, everything was meticulously prepared, but just when everyone though it would all go back to what it had been, inexplicably a fire broke out. The most curious thing about the fire was that its only victims were Cerelle and the brother I had seen beating the suitor, Ceryn, I think his name was."

xx. The old paper clipping of the Reyne family picture rested on Lyanna's desk. Of course there was no ghost in the mansion. Cerelle Reyne and Ceryn, her brother, were holding hands. She could see it in the small space between the parents' chairs. It was not obvious. In one did not look for it, there was a high change it would escape notice. They seemed to be exchanging something.

It rather reminded Lyanna of Brandon passing them sweets when mother was not looking. She wondered if there were any other Reynes left around. Most of them had left after the death of the brothers.

The newspaper dubbed it a tragedy. Lyanna found it to be a mystery. Cerelle Reyne was something of a legend in that no one knew exactly who had been her child's father. Some supposed it was the lover that started the fire, other blamed it on the future husband and some – with a more devious mind – thought it might have even been the brother. Nobody knew anything they could prove. But the lover had fled, the future husband was not opposed to marrying Cerelle, and her brother seemed by all accounts to have loved his sister, even if his temper did get the best of him that one time.

It was never discovered who had set the fire or how it started exactly. Supposedly if a person entered the room in which the brother and sister dies, they would choke on smoke.

xxi. The door swung open with a loud groan. Lyanna's hand was still raised in the air, having stopped somewhere between her body and the door. A young girl stood in the doorway. She looked Lyanna over with a critical eye. Meanwhile Lyanna stood stunned, gazing back at the girl.

"Rhaenys, who is at the door?" Lyanna heard Rhaegar asked. The girl, Rhaenys, turned her head towards the interior of the apartment, down what Lyanna supposed to be the hall. She heard the footsteps and knew he was approaching, but she could do nothing other than stare. "Lyanna?" At least he was about as surprised as her. She opened her lips to say something, but it was lost in his quick invitation. "Come on in."

She stepped over the threshold, and without a warning she was surrounded by an essence strange to her. It was in part due to the scent, which, not unexpectedly, was much stronger in the man's own domain; the other part had to do with presence more than anything. Lyanna supposed it was the fact that she was so close to him in so restrained a space that made her uneasy. She clutched her handbag a little more tightly than strictly necessary. "You left this address with me last time. I hope I'm not disturbing."

"Not at all." Rhaegar smiled at her; he looked at the girl, then back at Lyanna. "This is my daughter, Rhaenys." The child had grown shyer, half hiding behind her father.

"Hello, Rhaenys," Lyanna greeted politely. She resisted the urge to lower herself to the girl's level. "I am Lyanna." She held her hand out, waiting for the other to take it.

"My name is Rhaenys," the little girl chirruped, her voice quite high. In the end she did shake hands with Lyanna, at her father's silent urging.

"Right. Run along now and finish your homework," Rhaegar instructed, giving a slight shake of his head as the girl sprinted off.

Lyanna followed his lead, stepping into the room in which he conveyed her, all the while trying to remember if she had or had not seen a wedding band on his finger. Then again one did not have to be married in order to produce children – that it was expected, she did not deny; but it was hardly compulsory. Still, had there been any signs? Curiously enough, he had acted as if he was interested in her.

xxiii. "Do you think you could explain this to me?" She handed him a small pile of bound letters. Rhaegar did not recognise them immediately. She set them on the table. "I was hoping you could."

Rhaegar took one in his hand and turned it over. The writing was familiar. He opened the envelope. "I hid these. Up on the hill." The silent question hung between them. How had she found them? "In the old Reyne mansion."

"I found them by accident," she admitted freely.

"Not all of them are letters. Some are contracts. Have you seen those?" He was bound to offer her some sort of explanation when she nodded swiftly. "I suppose I ought to start from the beginning then." He breathed deeply, as if preparing to share some sort of great secret. "Before you were born, when I was only a few years old myself, our grandfathers were of a mind to create an alliance. It had something to do with the Lannisters trying to expand north, I never did find out all the details. But the fact remains, they signed a contract by which they promised that the eldest sons and daughters of their children were to be married when they came of age."

"Rather medieval if you ask me," Lyanna commented, a small smile on her lips. It did not reach her eyes. "It's a wonder they did allow us to meet before we were to be married."

"In a few years it became apparent that the Lannisters were in no hurry to proceed with the plan. And then Tywin Lannister left his father's business for a career as a politician. All their planning had been in vain. By then I was already in my late teens and I hadn't seen you for about six years. The alliance just fell apart."

"So you took back your word?" she asked, seemingly content to sit there and listen. "And married your current wife, I suppose."

"Not quite so. It is a more complicated matter." Unsure how to proceed, Rhaegar 's words failed him for a few moments.

"If you do not feel you can tell me now, I won't push for the information," Lyanna murmured when he did not speak. "But I want to know why you remain so close to my grandfather. He does not seem likely to take a breach of trust kindly."

"He didn't. In light of the situation he chose not to bring the contract between the families up. But I don't think he ever forgave me for that. Personally, I mean. " How could he tell her the truth, the entire truth? Elia. Rhaegar did wonder how it came to this. "But he never did judge me for anything other than my work."

xxiv. It stung. Lyanna brushed back a strand of hair, but other than that she made no movement. Why were her feelings hurt? It was positively medieval what their grandparents had done. No wonder Rhaegar went and married a woman of his own choosing. She had been a child when he did get married. He was speaking once again. "Elia and I separated not long after Aegon was born. He is Rhaenys' little brother. I think that did endear me to your grandfather a little more than before." Yet still the pain persisted.

Lyanna frowned. "It must have for him to allow us to meet. Why didn't you destroy the papers?" Was he ever going to tell her about this, should she not have found out on her own? "You did not need to keep them."

"I'm glad I did," he replied softly.

She did not bother asking why. "They hold no value now, do they? They hold no power."

"None whatsoever. You and I would have had to sign that in order for it to mean anything. As it is we are not bound to anything." Something in his eyes asked her to consider the matter though.

"Is this why my grandfather called me back? He's hoping I will comply with that contract." She gave a soft snort of disbelief.

"No," Rhaegar hurriedly denied. "If anything, he will be very happy should you not give it much thought."

"And yet he told me about the Reyne mansion." Lyanna did not think much of coincidences. "He introduced us, and you are free to come and go as you please. Do you not think it is at least a little bit strange?"

"What do you want me to say?" Perhaps she expected an apology. Perhaps not.

"The better question would be what do I want you to do?" Lyanna rose from her seat. "I need some time to think." An understatement. She needed an eternity.

xxv. The Reyne mansion, with its eerie interiors, poorly lit, blackened by fire, was perhaps not the best place for her to meditate. Lyanna sat on the ground, legs stretched out before her, looking at one of the walls. What did she want him to do?

Nothing. The answer came to her out of nowhere. She did not want him to do anything. Not because nothing would endear him to her more; it was exactly the opposite. If he sought her affection, she would have to give it – well, perhaps not as an obligation, she certainly didn’t feel like she had to in that sort of manner. And yet, her heart urged her to. What a mess.

And still, the answer was nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Lyanna looked up. And nothing again. Was there anything, really? Was there a reason she’d been brought to this old house?

Standing to her feet, she attempted to brush away the dust that had undoubtedly stuck to her. Yet as she was in the process of doing so, a cracking sort of sound assaulted her ears. It was faint, hard to discerned, but once she focused all her attention upon it, no trace of doubt remained.

One glance down convinced her she was in no danger of falling into any sort of abyss. Assured of that, the young woman looked up and noticed, for the first time, that the ceiling was cracked. And then it became clear what the sound was.

A wide portion of the blasted thing came crashing down towards her and even as she rushed out of the way, there was no escape. By some misfortune, she slipped on the floor and fell to the ground. Instinctively her arms cradled her head, trying to protect herself from the blow that was sure to follow.

And come it did. The pain was so great that for one endless moment Lyanna was sure her skull had been split apart and that, if she opened her eyes, she would see blood and gore splattered out before her.

Her eyes opened.

The blonde woman smiled down at her, red lips parted, white teeth gleaming. Her scarred skin glowed.

_xxvi. The blinding wave of immaculate white took her by surprise. It also made her grunt in pain. Her eyes had been used to the dimness of the haunted house. She tried to move only to feel herself restrictioned. Confused, and more than a little scared, Lyanna looked down. Blankets had been drawn over her form._

_Had Rhaegar come to find her? It seemed unlikely. But her grandfather couldn’t have made the journey. So, it could only be Rhaegar._

_The door opened._

_xvii. “Rhaegar!” she called to him, glad to see a familiar face. But instead of relief, she saw shock upon his features. The unexpectedness of it brought about an indescribable pang. It was swiftly forgotten in a flurry of movement as Rhaegar sprang towards her. Lyanna flinched at this sort of approach but did not object when he wrapped his arms around her._

_“Oh my God,” she heard him speak into her hair as his hold grew stronger. “Oh my God. You can’t imagine how horrible this past few months have been.”_

_“Months?” she questioned. “But, how? I saw you just a few hours before.” Surely, a simple hit to the head wouldn’t have made her unconscious for months._

_“Don’t speak. I’ll go get the doctor.” The brusque interruption threw her off. Lyanna allowed him to pull away, not even having realized that she had hugged him back. As he stood to his full height, Lyanna finally noticed a detail that she hadn’t before. Rhaegar was wearing a ring._

_“Let me see that,” she requested, making to grab his hand. She pulled it up for inspection, not even taking notice of him anymore. The carved animals danced around the band of silver. “What is this?” It was the same carvings as the ones she’d seen in the attic. She looked up at him. “Where do you have this from?”_

_Worry wormed its way across his features. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t you remember? You gave it to me? Found it in some antique shop and got it for me.” He gave a small, jerky shake of his hand. “Don’t you remember?”_

_“I gave it to you?” But that was impossible. “I’ve only just met you.”_

_xxviii. In the end, she told him everything. Every detail she could recall, from that time she received the invitation to the dark room and the ghostly apparition. The doctor had come as well and he sat in a chair, listening, seemingly transfixed._

_xxix. “It’s not simply memory loss,” the doctor was saying. Lyanna, having been given a brief but clear description of how she had found her way into the hospital could not believe her ears. “Mrs. Targaryen, due to the very strong collision, you went into a coma-like state, but your mind continued to register activity. It was mainly for that reason that we could hope for recovery.”_

_“But I don’t know how to drive,” she tried making sense of it all. “My father and one of my brothers died in a car accident.”_

_“You were five when that happened,” Rhaegar reminded her gently. “They were coming to pick you up from your grandfather’s and some drunk driver lost control of the wheel.” The similarities were striking. Lyanna could not help but be fascinated._

_“It is possible that the accident connected itself to the residual pain.” The doctor patted her hand gently. “Sometimes, we feel guilt for things that we could not have changed. It is very likely that you elaborated a projection of the world and sustained it throughout these months. It would certainly explain your experiences and their realness.”_

_xxix. “So, I’m thirty-five.” Lyanna stared at the documents. She wanted to panic and run and look into a mirror. But she somehow lacked the strength. Rhaegar had been very patient with her, explaining things and situations and basically all things she should have known. “And this is our son.”_

_“Yes.” Rhaegar traced his thumb across the picture. “He was distraught that I wouldn’t let him stay here with you.”_

_“He’s only seven,” she murmured._

_“He misses you.” That brought tears to her eyes._

_“I don’t even remember him.”_

_xxx. Twenty-two had been the last number on the license plate of the person who hit her with his car. The victim of an arson’s act had stayed with her for a few days, then subsequently died. Elia Martell was the name of one of the nurses and she had two children who at some point somehow snuck into the room. The first was called Rhaenys, a girl, and the second, a boy, Aegon. The Reynes of Castamere had been playing on the radio one day. Rhaegar had been discussion a contract with someone at some point. Her grandfather had passed away several years ago from a terminal illness. Her mother-in-law had died at the birth of one Daenerys Targaryen. Her father-in-law was still grieving._

_It all fit. It sounded right, but it did not feel right. The details were much the same, but not truly the same._

_xxxi. “Fine. Let’s accept for one moment that what you are saying is true,” Rhaegar allowed. “Then how exactly – and I remember you clearly telling me – would you know the contents of conversations that had taken place between persons who are not you, unless they were projections of yourself?”_

_xxxii. The moment her son wrapped his arms around her, it all made sense again. She held the boy tightly and allowed him kissed as many as he wanted. It didn’t matter, she told herself, which one was the projection. It didn’t matter because she had Jon and Rhaegar and whatever memories she was missing could be replaced with other ones._

_xxxiii. On the hill the abandoned house looked gloomy and bereft of any joy still._

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who know your stuff regarding philosophy, you will have noticed the Sartre, Nietzsche, Camus references.
> 
> For those of you with a passion for literature, this story is an allusion to the 'literary' fairytale. Of course, in itself, it fails as a fairytale (which is supposed to be a lot simpler, its edges well-defined), but that was the point.
> 
> Vague inspiration sources: Goethe's "Faust", Valery's "My Faust", Hauptmann's "Signalman Thiel" and the movie "The Thirteenth Tale" starring Sophie Turner. The problematic discussed is that of authenticity, which is, granted, no proper subject but I like mixing things up.


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